


Augmentation

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Body Image, Chocolate, Domestic Fluff, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Love, M/M, P.I. Dads, Self-Acceptance, Self-Defense, Teacher-Parent-Student meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: “You know how it is,” Healy had said after introducing himself to the teacher, “Mister March is recovering from a work-related incident. I’m the backup.”“You are the backup father?” the teacher had asked, putting down his pencil and staring at Healy’s solid frame and large hands.





	

It wasn’t until Healy found himself putting Holly’s favorite cereal beside the crate of Yoo-Hoos in the cart that he’d realized how much he’d gotten used to this new domesticity. He looked into the cart, at the apples, milk, bread and a wooden spatula that he’d seen on sale. All items he’d casually tossed in there at five in the afternoon on a Thursday as if he’d never done anything else. A year ago he’d just load up on bare necessities and fish food and leave it at that.

Now he thought about March’s fondness for apples and the importance of having a well-stocked fridge and pantry when they came home exhausted after hunting down a missing husband or nephew. They’d just solved a case earlier that morning and cashed the checks so going to the shop to stock up on groceries had seemed like a sensible idea. March was at home in the newly restored house, unpacking endless boxes in a house with what furniture they’d been able to afford with the remains of some checks from a few easy jobs. Holly’s bed had been the first thing they’d bought, because no matter what anyone said, they had some of their priorities straight.

He’d spent so much time over at their old rental before they moved that they’d settled on changing his apartment into an office for their detective agency. It was more professional and he’d been sleeping over for months now, March had argued. That was how March always referred to the fact that they’d been sleeping beside each other in the master bedroom for all this time, as if it was just a prolonged sleep-over. 

As if he didn’t slide his hand around Healy’s soft stomach at night and trace the scar on his bicep. As if Healy didn’t reassure him that there was no smell of gas before they got comfortable. As if they didn’t press their foreheads together after half an hour of kissing.

Perhaps it was some sort of self-preservation instinct, if anyone was eavesdropping on them. Healy continued adding groceries to the cart, mostly vegetables and a bar of chocolate, because he had never proclaimed to be a saint. Moving into the new rental with March and Holly had seemed a natural progression of things but when he’d mentioned looking for a new room because he didn't want to impose, Holly had been outraged that her dad hadn’t asked him to stay already. So March had asked him and Healy had stayed with them.

Healy paid for the groceries and headed back to the car. Earlier that day he’d been the one to show up at the parent-teacher-and-student conference in Holly’s high school after she’d demonstrated to her friends how to trip someone who was harassing you. Self-defense was important, she’d told the teacher, but he’d put her in detention anyway and called March. But he was still at the hospital because he’d broken his arm again after falling down the stairs at a client’s house. So, Healy had parked in the school’s parking lot and dusted off his only suit, straightening the tie.

“You know how it is,” Healy had said after introducing himself to the teacher, “Mister March is recovering from a work-related incident. I’m the backup.”

“You are the backup father?” the teacher had asked, putting down his pencil and staring at Healy’s solid frame and large hands. Healy knew he looked like a bruiser, if one that had been softened by the years. That was how he’d made most of his living for years, after all. He still had quite a lot of muscle, even if it was receding. Healy decided that the best response to that question was no response at all.  
The teacher seemed ready to back away from him but confused by the friendly smile on Healy’s face. He finally settled on turning his head to look at Holly for the answer to that question.  
Holly had nodded, quite enthusiastically. The teacher blinked and then looked at Healy as if he had all the answers in the world.

“I’m her father’s business partner,” Healy had explained, “we work together.”

“Were you the one who taught her how to beat up other children?” the teacher had asked, managing to look stern. “I decided to call her...err…other father before I told the principal about what happened today in case there was a good explanation for her behavior.”

Healy got the sense that the teacher was actively being open minded or simply just humoring Holly, according to the little tilt of his head as he watched Healy move towards the desk where Holly was seated.

“I taught her how to defend herself and to escape a fight,” Healy had said, letting the man get a good look of the scars on his hands. “I teach a self-defense course at the Learning Adjunct. “

The teacher had then raised his hands in defeat and sighed before Healy had finished the sentence, most likely decided that he wasn’t paid to get into fights with men like Healy and told them to leave. Holly had been pleased with how short and to the point the meeting had been and kept glancing at him on the drive home, as if she was waiting for him to argue with her about her claim of him being her other father. He couldn’t find the words for the warmth in his chest and the lump in his throat. Perhaps he’d come across the word in his calendar one day.

He’d heard that expression before during one of his self-defense classes, whispered between the students. They’d called him “Mr. Healy, Holly’s other parent,” and nodded at him as if his secret was safe with them. The students in his classes, which he taught early on weekend mornings when March was asleep were a different sort now that word had gotten around that he was working as a detective. People had seen him and March around town, solving crimes and finding missing people and objects. Instead of being mostly men who had been beaten up too many times or wanted to know how to minimize that happening again, all sorts of women had started showing up. They’d heard of The Nice Guys, or had seen them in the newspapers. As in most small groups, they had added all the information they had on him in a big pile and decided that they liked him. They would wave at Holly when she sat on a folding chair and watched the class and nod at March and Healy in the streets. One evening they had walked into a bar looking for information and almost been shooed out, the bartender informing them that this was a bar for same-sex couples. But one of Healy’s students had whispered something in the bartender’s ear and they had been welcomed inside. Perhaps the world was a slightly safer place for people like them now.

The grocery bags were relatively light as Healy put them in the backseat, but it was enough food to last them a few days. It was strange to think that only a year had passed since they’d solved their first case together. The drive home didn’t take long, and there was something about walking inside and seeing Holly putting all her tomatoes in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table beside her math homework and March digging around in one of the boxes in the living room with one hand for old paperbacks that made Healy smile. He finished putting away the groceries with practiced movements before splitting the chocolate bar into three chunks. He put the biggest one on the kitchen table for Holly and then went into the living room to sit beside March. The couch was the only thing in the living room, they didn’t even have a coffee table or bookshelves yet. Holly had sat down in the kitchen to finish her homework, nibbling on her chocolate.

“This is good,” March said, accepting his chocolate chunk as he began browsing through one of the paperbacks, which featured a detective on the cover. Holly had drawn a duck on his cast and Healy looked around the room for a pen so that he could sign it. After a few minutes, March put the book down on the floor and his healthy arm around Healy’s shoulders, pressing their sides together. To be fair, Healy suspected that he was softer and more comfortable than the couch itself.

“Yes,” Healy replied, leaning back in the sofa as March’s fingers brushed across the fabric of his shirt, “this good. Let’s keep it like this.”

They stayed on the couch for a long time in silence, content with each other’s company.


End file.
